


Back To You

by Dragongoddess13



Series: Tumblr Prompts [54]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, Gendrya - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-07-08 02:13:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19861816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragongoddess13/pseuds/Dragongoddess13
Summary: Gendry sees her across the gallery and feels the pull of dreams that haunt him nightly.





	1. Part I: Gendry Waters/Baratheon

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea where this came from..... it just kind of happened.

Back To You

Part I: Gendry Waters/Baratheon

xXx

Gendry sees her across the gallery and feels the pull of dreams that haunt him nightly. She’s shorter than him by over a foot and her hair, cut short at the shoulders is a rich brown. Her eyes are steel, her complexion soft and the longer he stares at her the stronger the memories get. 

_She’s got a glass spear tip in her hand. “I know death.” The spear tip flies passed him, embedding in the post across the aisle. “He’s got many faces.” she picks up a second and it joins its mate in the post directly beside it. “I look forward to seeing this one.” a third follows and try as he might he can’t pull his eyes from the blades, awe mixing with something unexpected inside him. Lust, it’s lust he feels for this deadly woman, a foot or more shorter than him. “My weapon.” she finally says._

_“I’ll get right on it.”_

She’s wearing a black suit, the pant legs like skinny jeans, the heels on her feet a vibrant blue to match her tie and vest. She’s staring at his latest creation like she’ll find the answers to life inscribed in the metal plating. It’s a dire wolf. Standing at exact dimensions, as told by biology texts he’d consulted. He’s sculpted it out of steel, a strange choice for one of his non weapon pieces, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this piece would never be right if made from something else.

For the life of him, he can’t figure out why her opinion is the only one that matters. 

_She’s aiming her bow at a target far enough away for the low light to cause a modicum of inaccuracy for anyone, even a skilled bowman. She has no such trouble. He’s been watching her for some minutes, studying her. She’s changed so much since last he saw her. Oh how he wishes he’d gone with her when he had the chance._

_He steps forward, the creak of the boards beneath his feet giving him away, or at least he assumes so. A small part of him thinks she knew he was there all along._

_“Is that for me?” He’s carrying the weapon she asked for, a double sided spear unlike any he’s seen before. He feels great pride at being the first to create such a piece, and for her no less. He hands it over and she tests its weight, smiling slightly at his work. There’s something in the way she looks at it that tells him she expected no less. “This’ll work.”_

_“Last time you saw me, you wanted me to come to Winterfell.” he speaks, she doesn’t halt her practiced movements. “Took the long road, but…”_

_“What did the Red Woman want with you?” she interrupts him. His rejection still burns, he can see that, she had trusted him and he intended to leave her willingly. Knowing what he knows now he wonders if she would have been his family after all. If her father had told anyone of his lineage, if he would have been welcomed as more than a craftsman of use._

_“She wanted my blood, for some kind of spell.”_

_“Why your blood?” she asks him and he’s suddenly nervous. He’s not sure he wants her to know. “I’m Robert Baratheon’s bastard.” she finally looks at him, eyes widening in surprise. There’s no disgust there, not like he expected, though he’s not sure why he would have thought that. “I didn’t know until she told me.” he assured her. “Then, she tied me up, stripped me down, put leeches all over me.” he doesn’t know why he tells her that. She didn’t need to know, but the words came unbidden and he can’t stop himself._

_“Was that your first time?” she’s not judging him. She might be teasing him._

_“No, yeah, I’ve never had leeches put all over my cock.” it’s a weird question which only grows awkward with clarification._

_“Your first time with a woman.”_

_“What? I didn’t… I wasn’t…” he stutters and perhaps she likes when he’s off kilter. Perhaps that’s why she doesn’t let him explain._

_“Were you with other girls before that, in King’s Landing?” he scoffs, she won’t get the best of him. He’s not answering that. “Or after?” she’s really pushing this. Why must it be her who questions his experience? “You don’t remember?” she asks._

_“Yes, I was.” he resists the urge to flinch. He hadn’t meant to answer her._

_“One? Two? Twenty?” she continues._

_“Well, I didn’t keep count.”_

_She smirks at him. Its infuriating how she looks at him like she can see right through him. He remembers how inexperienced she was in the ways of the world when they first met, how she could stand up, fight, how she was tough, scrappy, but at the end of the day she was just a child, only a few years younger than him. Now she stands, her back straight her, her eyes like Valyrian Steel. She’s a woman now, at least ten and nine, and she carries a confidence that is well refined. “Yes you did.” she replies._

_Gendry sighs, it’s his white flag. “Three.”_

_The conversation does not go where he expects it to. “We’re probably going to die soon.” she says it so casually as she steps closer. “I want to know what it’s like before that happens.”_

_“Arya...” he breaths. It’s the first time he’s said her name in so long and it won’t be the last, not if he can help it._

Gendry usually wakes up before he gets to see what happens next, but judging by the deep buzz in his veins as he lies in bed, he can guess what happens. He can see her face, highlighted by the shadows cast in the low light. The image is burned in his mind. He has dreamed about her for years now, and every morning he tells himself it was just that, a dream. And yet here she stands, admiring a piece of work he barely remembers making, as though possessed by some unseen force he can not describe. 

_“All I know is that you’re beautiful, and I love you. And none of it would be worth anything if you’re not with me. So be with me. Be my wife, be the lady of Storm’s End.”_

_As he says it he knows she’ll reject him. Not because she doesn’t love him, not because she doesn’t want to spend the rest of her life with him as well, but because there is still so much to do. There are no guarantees beyond this point, no promises they make to each other now will be guaranteed to withstand the coming conflict. He’s too drunk to tell her he doesn’t want a lady wife, he just wants her._

The dreams end there, or at least, the dreams of that nature end there. He doesn’t see if they ever return to each other. 

But he does see her in other dreams. 

_Gendry steps into the parlor of an old mansion. Castle would be a better description he thinks, but those around him refer to it only as Winterfell. He does not know why, but the name sparks something in his mind, like a memory long forgotten. There are ornate wolves all around the house, statues and paintings and tapestries._

_There is a woman in the parlor. Her back is to him and she is typing with much precision at a typewriter. He doesn’t know if she’s aware that he’s there and he considers announcing himself, but then he finds himself caught up in memories he’s not sure are his and he watches her instead. She wears a soft green day gown, her long brown hair twisted elegantly into braids. There is a vase of bright pink flowers he does not recognize at her side and the slight breeze from the open window rustles them about._

_He steps forward without thinking and the floor creaks, startling her. She turns quickly to find him standing there, eyes wide. She didn’t know he was there this time._

_“My apologies for startling you ma’am.” he tells her and she merely nods._

_“Are you here to see someone?” she asks._

_“I am Dr. Baratheon.” he tells her. He didn’t want to keep his father’s name, not after so many years of being trapped under his thumb, but the name gives him respectability he would have had to struggle for otherwise._

_“Oh, yes, you’re here to check in on my mother.” she tells him. He only knows he was asked to check in on the lady of the house. It was suspected that she had come down with consumption. He was here to make sure._

_It is unfortunately consumption and the young woman whose name he only knows because her mother used it, is distraught. He understands her pain, his own mother was lost to the disease when he was just a boy. Watching her waste away is what brought him to the field of medicine._

_“I am sorry, M’lady.” he tells her as she walks him back downstairs. “Please know you may call on me at anytime.” he continues. “I understand the impact this disease has on a family. I will be available as much as is reasonably.”_

_“Thank you.” she replies as she opens the door for him._

The young woman who has haunted his dreams for years, finally pulls herself from the piece and almost reluctantly moves on, only to be drawn to another piece of his. This one of a young couple, sculpted in clay from memory and bronzed. She is entranced by it, a spark of recognition in her eyes. Gendry wonders if she shares the same dreams.

_He is called to the mansion (not castle) frequently over the next few months. He does what he can for her mother, but in the end it is not enough. She dies in the winter and is buried in the cemetery on the estate. Gendry is there for the funeral. He has grown close Arya, the last child of the family. The others have died in wars, or disease or gone far away, most likely never to be seen again. She is alone now, and he can not stomach that for this woman who has become a friend._

_She is a writer. An artist who spins fanciful tales and thrilling mysteries. He has read nearly all of them, unaware that they were hers. It is a joy to speak with her about them. She seems to enjoy the conversations as well. He hopes it is more his company than the subject matter._

_They are married some years later on the estate. They are happy in a way he has never known possible. They have three children, the fourth dying alongside his mother in childbirth._

The dreams end there, leaving him empty and aching. 

She has not been able to tear herself away from his side of the gallery. He watches as she looks at each piece and then, once finished, she turns and starts all over again. Each piece is inspired by his dreams. And her captivation of them only makes him wonder if she sees in them what he sees. 

Not dreams, but memories.

_They’ve been on the road for weeks, eating dodgy truck stop food and sleeping under the stars. The old Mustang’s trunk is full of guns and stolen cash, the back seat, their meager possessions. They’ve robbed three banks, four convenient stores and several gas stations. They live solely on the rush of adrenaline and how much love they feel for each other. They stop at night and make love under the stars. Nothing can tear them apart, not the families that didn’t understand them, or the law men that hunt them._

_The dessert is stifling this time of year, but it doesn’t stop them. The last job was all they would ever need to survive, but it was also the last straw for the men chasing them. There is no where else for them to hide. Their only option is to run, cross the border and go as far south as they can. Start a new life where no one knows them or what they’ve done._

Gendry wakes from this dream anxious and shaking, the sound of the car exploding as it hits the Rio Grande below, echoing in the silence of his studio. 

That dream is immortalized in junk parts. Pieces of an old seventies Mustang, bent and shaped and welded into a she-wolf and a bull standing proudly together. It’s not his favorite, but when he looks at it he feels a rush of adrenaline and a desire to do something bad. 

“You gonna stare at her all night mate, or are you going to go over there and talk to her?” Horus Ponsley, affectionately known as Hot Pie and Gendry’s dearest friend, brings himself to stand beside Gendry, tearing his attention away from the woman across the room. 

“It’s her.” he replies, the awe in his voice is unsettling to a point. “That’s her, the girl in my dreams.” He doesn’t need to look at Hot Pie to know he’s stunned.

“Are you sure?” 

“I’ve dreamed about her since I was thirteen years old. I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” 

“Bloody hell, mate. Then what are you doing all the way over here, go talk to her.” 

“What the hell am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I’m Gendry, and I’ve been dreaming about you since I hit puberty’.” 

“I wouldn’t put it exactly like that, but something along those lines ought to work.” 

Gendry sighs. “I…” he hesitates. 

“Go,” Hot Pie takes advantage, shooing him forward gently. “I’ll bet you’ll know what to say when you get there.” 

She’s back to the bronze statue, the one of the warrior and the blacksmith entwined in what could be the last night of their lives. He’s noticed throughout the night that she’s not noticed anyone who comes to stand beside her, but as he stops she looks up abruptly. Blue meets grey and it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before. 

“Gendry.” he introduces himself. 

“I know.” she replies, her voice full of wonder. “Arya.” she introduces herself. 

Gendry smiles. “I know.” 


	2. Part II: Arya Stark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arya's point of view and more memories

Back To You

Part II: Arya 

xXx

She has never particularly loved art. She doesn’t hate it by any stretch of the imagination, but she has always been tactile. Outside playing games and, digging in the dirt, working her muscles, letting her mind and emotions slip away. When she does find herself enjoying art, she prefers landscapes, simple, colorful, sometimes majestic. But, as she walks the west side of the gallery on Flea bottom street, she finds her mind drifting to memories she had all but completely convinced herself were just strange dreams. 

_Her vantage point is perfectly lined with the main road through the neck. It is here that she waits for her next target. The sound of hooves against the stones she’s set into the road, alert her to an incoming party. No, not a party, she realizes as the carriage pulls into view. Escort. The carriage is pulled by two large black horses and around it are four gold men on horseback._

_She smirks to herself._

_There is only a handful of people who can be in that carriage, surrounded by the Queen’s men. Anyone of them would be most useful to her. She moves from her position, scouring along the underbrush alongside the road, watching the carriage and the men move along at a sedate pace. They aren’t in any hurry to get where they’re going, which bodes well for her._

_Lying in the road ahead is a large tree. She’s rigged it so that at any point she can raise and lower it like a gate, but the men don’t know that and they stop to inspect it. It is here that she makes her move. Dismounted from their horses, she takes them out one by one, leaving them beaten and blood on the road. The driver of the carriage does not appear to want anything to do with this and jumps from the high seat, running off into the woods. He won’t get far. There is no room for cowardice in her wood._

_She turns her attention to the carriage and as she approaches the door swings open, allowing an older man to jump out sword drawn. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words are caught in his throat as he catches sight of her._

_“It is not possible.” he finally manages to speak._

_She too has trouble speaking. Davos Seaworth is the most trusted advisor to House Baratheon. His presence here means only one thing._

_“Davos, what is it?” a second voice calls out from inside the carriage and it isn’t long before another familiar face appears, nearly stopping her heart._

_Lady Arya Stark has not seen Prince Gendry Baratheon in many years, not since his step mother ordered the extermination of House Stark after the King’s death. As far as the people are concerned, the North was overrun by White Walkers, and she had to give Cersei credit, her men certainly made it look convincing, but Arya was there, she just barely escaped with her life, she knows what really happened, she remembers, vividly, the army of gold men, the sound of swords clashing, the screams of her mother, her sister, her brothers as they were cut down in front of her, slaughtered for being loyal to a dead king._

_Seeing him now is like a slap in the face. She is almost certain Cersei had killed her husband to assume the Iron Throne which could only mean that the son from his first wife, the only child that he fathered, was undoubtedly in danger as well. She had assumed that he was dead, or imprisoned on false charges. But he wasn’t, he was here, standing before her, his striking blue eyes staring at her with the same wonder and love they had always looked upon her with._

_“Arya.” he breaths, taking a step closer. His movement snaps her out of her reverie and she brings her sword up, stopping him short, the tip of Needle at his throat._

_“How fortuitous.” she finally speaks. “The King’s son and his most trusted advisor. You’ll certainly come in handy in the coming conflict.” she says, her own words driving a knife into her chest._

_“Arya, please, tell me what’s going on.” Gendry implores, but she will not let him get to her. She will not let her lingering feeling get in the way of what must be done. She whistles, and like ghosts, men bleed from the trees around the road, surrounding them._

_“You’re the bandit who’s been stalking the King’s Road.” Davos finally speaks up. He lowers his sword. He knows he’s outnumbered, and perhaps he knows she won’t let anything happen to them, no matter how desperate she is to stop Cersei. “Attacking travelers who are in service to the Queen. But why?”_

_Arya does not answer, turning to the man standing to her right. “Take them back to the camp.” she tells him, then, speaking to the rest of the men. “Take anything of value and burn the rest.”_

_Arya does not return to the camp until after nightfall. She’s given instruction to take care of Gendry and Davos. Until she knows for certain if they are an enemy or not, she insists they be treated as though they are allies._

_She has spent the evening on the outskirts, in the shadows, listening to her men converse, listening to her second, Sandor Clegane explain everything to Gendry and Davos. The lies they were fed about her family’s deaths, their suspicion that the King was also murdered. She is not entirely surprised to hear that Davos has harbored some suspicions of his own. He’s never liked his King’s second wife, never trusted her. He brings about the revelation that he is not entirely sure Gendry’s mother’s death was natural either. Cersei appeared far to suddenly after the Queen’s death not to raise his suspicions._

_“My stepmother is well aware of your presence here, though I doubt she knows exactly who you are.” Gendry’s voice is deeper now. He’s grown a beard like his father, and it does little to quell the fire in her veins. She has had womanly feelings for the prince since her thirteenth name day and while she abhors the practice of arranged marriage, it hadn’t bothered her quite so much when she realized their fathers were keen on uniting their families through them._

_Arya knows he felt the same. He was her best friend growing up. She always looked forward to traveling to King’s Landing or for him to come to Winterfell. It felt right to think they would spend the rest of their lives together. He would never force her into the duties of a wife, he knew she wanted more than that out of life and he loved that about her._

_“I suspect,” Davos’ voice pulls her from her thoughts. “That she hoped we would come across you here, become “messages” in your crusade against her, thus ridding her of the only obstacle that could keep her from the Iron Throne.”_

_“History is repeating itself, it seems.” Clegane speaks up._

_“What do you mean?” Gendry questions._

_“There are legends surrounding the Iron Throne. Legends stemming from the last war of the seven kingdoms.”_

_Davos hums. “I did warn Robert about naming his only son after the bastard son of his ancestor, the first King Robert. That the queen’s name had been cersei as well does not quell my concerns.”_

_“One would think we were locked in a desperate and endless loop.” Gendry says._

_Arya steps into the light then, drawing Davos and Clegane’s attention. “Perhaps.” Davos replies. “Or perhaps there is more to it than that.” he stands, drawing Gendry’s attention from the fire. “It’s been a long day, I think I shall turn in.” Clegane silently agrees, and as they leave, Gendry finally notices her standing there. She joins him by the fire, occupying the space Davos has left open._

_They sit in silence, staring into the flames of the fire, neither of them sure what to say to the other. It is Gendry who finally speaks. “I thought you were dead.” he tells her. It’s hard to miss the pain in his voice._

_“I thought you might be as well.” she replies. “There’s been no word of you since your father’s death.”_

_“Cersei has insisted I remain in the castle. She claimed to be concerned with my safety, worried that I may become a target as the last Baratheon heir to the throne. It would appear she was correct.” he huffs a laugh, but Arya does not think it’s funny. She has dreamt of seeing him again, but not like this, not while he is in danger. When word reaches the Queen that the bodies of her stepson and his advisor were not found with the bodies of her men, she will send more men after them under the guise of rescue. She doubts they will ever see King’s Landing again, should her men catch up to them._

_“I have missed you.” she finally speaks up, determined not to discuss the imminent danger. Not right now at least._

_“And I you.”_

_They find solace in each other that night and in the morning they make plans to stop Cersei once and for all._

Arya finds her attention captivated by these pieces. Her sister, who dragged her here to begin with, tries to convince her to move on, to see what else is there, but Arya can barely hear her over the memories that threaten to consume her. 

_“Hi.” Arya says, surprised to find Gendry in the main hall. Sansa has been hounding for the last twenty minutes to get up and get something to eat, something she claims with help Arya sleep._

_“Well hello, what’s doing?” Gendry replies, happy to see her. It’s late and they’ve spent the day working hard on their performance for Christmas Eve. There’s still no snow, as strange as that is for the North, but Gendry Wallace and his partner Horus “Hot Pie” Davis won’t let it get them down. They have a show to put on, and it will go on, so long as their former commanding officer, Major General Davos Seaworth is in dire straights._

_“I couldn’t sleep.” Arya tells him. Arya and Sansa Stark had been booked for over the holidays at Davos’ inn in the North. But with the lack of snow the inn is practically empty. They were almost turned away with no one to perform for. But the General insisted they keep the booking, he was as stubborn as he was lovable._

_“You’re a little young for that route, aren’t you?” he jokes and she smiles, stepping down from the entrance way and coming around to sit at the bar._

_“I heard something about sandwiches and buttermilk.” she tells him._

_Gendry smiles, pulling a plate of sandwiches out from under the counter. “Sister, this is the place.” he says, trying on a silly accent. “We is loaded here. We got Winterfell blue plate or wintertown smorgasbord. Not as flashy as King’s Landing probably, but I think you’ll find the price is right.” he says, enjoying the sound of her laughter. “What’ll ya have?”_

_“Anything.”_

_“Well, tell me what you want to dream about, I’ll know what to give you.”_

_“What’s that?” she asks confused._

_“I got a whole big theory about it. Different kinds of food make for different kinds of dreams.” he explains. “Now, if you have ham and cheese on rye, like that,” he continues picking up one of the sandwiches. “I dream about a tall cool blonde. Sort of a first sacker type, you know. Turkey, I dream about a brunette. A little on the scatback side, but sexy, sexy.”_

_“What about liverwurst?” Arya asks laughing. Before he can reply she shivers. “It’s a little chilly here, isn’t it?”_

_“Is it?” he asks. “Certainly a natural born northern girl like yourself can’t be cold in this weather.”_

_She rolls her eyes. “Stupid.” she mutters under her breath._

_Gendry laughs. “I got just the spot for you then.” he tells her, picking up the platter of sandwiches and pitcher of buttermilk and leading her away from the counter. There’s an open hearth fire pit near the entrance of the lodge and around it are padded benches. He sets the plate and pitcher on a table and takes a seat. She sits beside him, warmed by the fire almost immediately._

_“Isn’t this nice?” he asks her. When he turns to look at her he realizes just how close she is._

_“Wonderful.” she tells him, her voice soft, grey eyes shining up at him._

_“Glad you came?” he continues, his own voice going soft. He can’t take his eyes off of her._

_“It’s better than a picnic.” she says. She can’t seem to look away either. “I just want to say, to tell you… what you and Horus are doing for the General… I just think… well, it’s one of the most decent things I’ve ever heard of.”_

_“No angle?”_

_“No angle.” she sighs. “I want to apologize for the way I sounded in Storms End. I guess I’m a little more like my sister after all, kind of a silly school girl. You know the bit, the lady fair and the knight on a white horse. I always tease Sansa for wanting something like that, but honestly, it doesn’t really sound so bad.”_

_“Let me tell you something, it’s kind of dangerous putting those knights up on white horses.” Gendry replies. She’s still so close he almost can’t stand it. “They’re likely to slip off you know.”_

_“I think mine’s here to stay.”_

_He smiles. “Well that’s sure good to know. Makes a fellow feel a little shaky to hold up there all alone on one of those bleached chargers.”_

_“Are you worried?” she asks, leaning closer._

_“Kind of.” he tells her, closing the distance between them._

Arya tears her eyes from the large Direwolf and moves on to the next piece and one by one she looks them over, studies them, memorizes them, compares them to her memories. 

_Braavos is beautiful this time of year. It’s warm, the sun beating down with not a cloud in the sky, and strangely peaceful despite all the tourists. Arya weaves her way through the crowds making their way to the beaches and ducks into a little shop off the main thoroughfare._

_“Can I help you?” the old woman behind the counter asks._

_“I’m in search of a gift, something for no one in particular.” Arya replies, removing her sunglasses. She doesn’t often wear dresses, but Baavos has held a special place in her heart for a long time now, and that includes the fashion, especially here in 1963, where she’s convinced it can not get any better._

_“I suggest you look in the back. There’s always something there for no one.” the old woman replies before going back to her work._

_Arya does as instructed, following the shelves of sculpted sea glass and expertly smithed weapons. It’s an odd contrast, but shops off the side streets are often meant to intrigue tourists, not make sense to them._

_At the back of the store is an open doorway covered with a beaded curtain. She steps through, the beads making no noise as she passes through the strands. Beyond the curtain is another door, this one closed with a small peep slide at eye level (or rather eye level for a normal sized person). She knocks on the door and within moments the sliding plate is moved, revealing a pair of cold eyes._

_“Valar Morghulis.” the man behind the door says._

_“Valar Dohaeris.” she replies. The plate slides closed and she can hear the locks unbolt with short thumps and clicks. Soon the door opens and she steps through, descending the stairs just beyond._

_At the bottom of the stairs is another door, it opens without ceremony and she steps through that one as well, coming out into a large cavernous hallway. There, someone is waiting for her._

_“Your late.” Jaqen says._

_“Hello to you too.” Arya replies. He does not look amused. “I had to lose a tail.” she tells him. “That girl from the restaurant on the beach. The one with the crush on Gendry.”_

_“And why would she follow you?” Jaqen asks, turning and leading her down the long hallway._

_“I assume she was hoping I would lead her to Gendry. He hasn’t come out of his workshop or left the base in a few weeks. I don’t like her, so when she asks after him I tell her it’s none of her business.” Arya smirks. “She doesn’t seem to like that response.”_

_Jaqen stops at the very end of the long hallway, opening a fourth door and leading her through. “If she continues to be a problem I will send someone to deal with her.” he tells her. Arya secretly hopes the girl continues to be a problem. She has always been a vindictive soul, and possessive to say the least. “Let us hope she is not.” Jaqen continues, as if sensing her thoughts._

_“I shall keep you informed, sir.” she replies. He simply nods once and continues on. The fourth door way had opened up into a large control room. Monitors and screens line the walls, enormous computers take up the center spaces and desks are placed through the room, each occupied by an agent of the Faceless Men. Here in The House of Black and White, they are the last defense against the evil that lurks in the shadows. The beasts and creatures that walked the world in the darkest times continue to threaten the world and its inhabitants. It is here that they monitor those threats and deal with them accordingly._

_Arya Stark is the Faceless Men’s best agent. Joining the organization after her family was killed by a Wendigo when she was only eight, she has trained with Jaqen and those who lead for over a decade._

_“Speaking of your bed fellow,” Jaqen speaks up again. “How is he? He refuses most company unless it is work related, and he rarely leaves your quarters.”_

_“He’s as well as any man who finds out his biological father is the king of hell.” Arya tells him. The defensiveness in her tone in unmistakable. “It’s driven him harder to stop Baratheon and his army of beasts from succeeding, if nothing else.”_

_“He’s out for revenge then.” it’s not a question._

_“Baratheon enslaved his mother and cast her out to live with the nightmares she saw in hell. She couldn’t handle the memories and took her own life to escape them, leaving Gendry alone. On top of that, he’s just found out the organization that took him in, gave him a home and a purpose, has known all of this all along.” she explains. “I think you should be grateful he’s not after you and your predecessors.”_

_“Now now, Princess, there’s no need to be so harsh. I’ve got no beef with the Faceless Men.” Gendry’s voice pulls their attention to the far side of the room, where he has emerged from another closed door, the rest of the underground facility just beyond it._

_“Don’t call me that.” she ground out, much to his amusement._

_“This is good to hear.” Jaqen replies. “Because there is much to do and I fear we won’t have much luck without your skills.”_

_“I’m flattered.”_

_Jaqen simply turns back to the task at hand. “I have another mission for you.” he tells them. “I want you to work on it together.”_

_“In the field, sir?” Gendry asks. “I’m not a field agent.”_

_“I have to agree, he doesn’t have the experience.” Arya adds._

_“I know, but now that you are aware of your parentage, I think it would be best if you trained for field work as well. It won’t be long before the secret gets out, it’s taken quite a bit to keep it from getting out thus far, but in the event it does, I can guarantee you the war will escalate and everyone will need to throw themselves fully into the fray.”_

_Jaqen hands Arya a file then, and tells them they’ll leave first thing in the morning. They aren’t given a chance to protest as he shoos them away._

_In Gendry’s lab, Arya watches as he reclaims his seat at his work bench, bending over the circuit board he’s soldering. She’s always loved to watch him work. Whether it be here in the lab or downstairs in his forge, it doesn’t matter, there’s just something about his focus that draws her in._

_“Are you going to stare at me all afternoon, or are you going to prepare for our mission?” he speaks up, drawing her from her thoughts._

_“You’ve never had a problem with me watching you work before?” she replies, not answering his question._

_“I never said I had a problem now.” he says. “But tomorrow will be dangerous and I would rather you be prepared than distracted.”_

_“You think pretty highly of yourself, Gendry. To think that you have the power to distract me.” she tells him. He rolls his eyes._

_“I think you and I both know I’m more than capable of distracting you, Princess.”_

_“Don’t call me that.” he smirks. “You’re right.” she finally replies. “But you really only have that power when your naked, and silent.”_

_Gendry throws his head back, laughing. It’s the first time she’s heard him laugh since the revelation of his parentage. She forgot how much she missed the sound of it._

_“I’ll tell you what, Princess,” he says, standing from his station. He steps up to her, standing toe to toe, an act that forces her to strain her neck back to look up at him. “I’ll believe that when you stop coming to me every night.” he smirks at the spark of anger in her steely grey eyes. She knows he’s challenging her, it’s what they do, but she’ll be damned if she’ll let him win._

_“Don’t. Call. Me. That.” she says, shoving him back until he loses his balance and falls into his chair. He grins the whole time, loving that he has this kind of power over her._

_“Make me.” he practically laughs at her._

_Arya straddles his lap, shoving her hands into his hair and pulling his head back. “As you wish.”_

The dreams are so strange, they always have been. She’s only ever confided in her sister about them and only because there have been a few that have forced her awake, screaming for the man in them. They have always felt so real, not like dreams but memories. Sansa thinks they _are_ memories, past lives she’s lived with this man, her soulmate, she calls him. Arya is not so romantic. 

A presence at her side draws her attention away from the warrior and the blacksmith. Identical in every way to the first dream she’s ever had of this man. She has ignored all others who have stepped up beside her, either looking at the pieces themselves or trying to chat her up, but she can not ignore this one. 

She looks up, grey meeting stunning blue and she’s lost in a thousand memories of dreams that haunt her nightly. 

“Gendry.” he introduces himself and she replies without thinking.

“I know.” she can hear the wonder in her voice, perhaps she’s more romantic than she gave herself credit for. “Arya.”

His smile is the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen. “I know.” 


	3. Part III: Gendry

Back To You

Part III: Gendry

xXx

_Gendry Dreams of her for the first time as dawn breaks on the morning of his thirteenth birthday. He is intensely aware of the buzz in his veins when he wakes, emotions he’s only considered since reaching puberty the year prior. He takes himself in hand without thinking as remembers his dream and the woman in it._

_The rest of the day is a blur. He’s never had much of a birthday, not since his mother died, but his foster family, the first in a long line that treat him well, do their best to remind him he’s loved. He knows he won’t be here for very long, the foster homes never last long, but just for that day, as steely grey eyes cement themselves in his mind, he lets himself hope he’ll get to stay here. He doesn’t, but sometimes hope is all he has._

_That night he dreams of her again. He feels the emotions of his older self as clearly as if any of this were real and he wakes with a start, an intense pleasure settling in a stick mess in his underwear. He takes long deep breaths and tries to calm the racing of his heart, finding himself a little scared by this turn of events. It’s not the first time he’s felt things like this, but it is the first time it’s ever been this intense or felt so real._

“You’re real.” he whispers and it’s only as she tilts her head curiously at him that he realizes he’s said it aloud. He feels a blush rise across his cheeks and looks away, his eyes finding The Warrior and The Blacksmith on their pedestal. 

“You’re the artist?” She says. It sounds like a question but there’s something in her voice that tells him she already knows the answer, not because his name is on the plaques or the announcement board out front, but because she knows him as well as he knows her. 

“Yes.”

“You’re very talented.” she tells him, eyes tracing the hard bronze lines of the statue. This is his favorite piece, maybe because it was inspired by his first dreams of her, or maybe it was because it was the first time he had been able to create something visual from his memories. 

_His mother is in her usual spot by the window, painting the field of lavender spread out as far as the eye can see behind their tiny shack in the country. They don’t have much, they never have and his mother has learned to make her own paints from what she can find around the rundown farm. She’s taught him as well and he loves sitting beside her at the window, painting his own field of flowers. It is in those moments that Gendry can easily forget what he doesn’t have._

_In the spring, when the flowers bloom fresh, the breeze that passes through the stone and brick shack brings with it the fresh scent of lavender. He used to hate the smell, too soapy he would say and his mother would laugh and kiss him on the forehead and go back to her work. He loved those moments so much he eventually grew to love the smell of lavender._

_His mother teaches him to love art. She had gone to art school before he was born, she used to tell him it was how she met his father, though Gendry doesn’t think that’s a good thing. He may not be old enough to truly understand her feelings on the matter, but he is old enough to know that a man who abandons his pregnant girlfriend is not a man worth remembering kindly. His mother has kept the textbooks she couldn’t sell, and Gendry falls asleep to stories about the world’s greatest painters._

She is more beautiful in person than in his wildest dreams, and there have been plenty of wild ones. He thinks he could stand here beside her forever, just remembering the sound of her voice or the feel of her hands against his skin. The sound of her laughter is a particular favorite of his, and he wonders if he can make her laugh now like he has in his dreams. 

_Gendry’s mother dies on a Tuesday. He’s ten years old and he is alone. The neighbors are miles away and they do not have a phone. She couldn’t afford treatment so she suffered in silence, trying not to let Gendry see the worst her disease had to offer. He cries through the night, alone for the first time in ten years. In the morning he tugs on his old worn sneakers and walks down the road to the farmhouse ten miles away. It takes him nearly all day, his little legs not long enough to take full steps. He has to stop and cry every once in a while, memories of his mother’s body lying in her bed, covered by the tattered bed sheet he hoped would protect her until he got home._

_The neighbors are horrified when he tells them why he needs to borrow their phone. They didn’t even know anyone lived in that old shack. He’s certain his dirty appearance and the thinness of his body does not help. Within days he’s in foster care, a home with a couple who have three children of their own. The children do not like him, he’s an outsider, intruding on their happy family. They don’t want him there and quite frankly he doesn’t want to be there. The oldest boy torments him for months until his parents have had enough, sending Gendry off to the next home that doesn’t want him._

“My sister tells me your rather famous in the world of art.” she speaks, and her voice is the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

“I don’t know about that, but I do well enough I suppose.” he replies modestly. He shouldn’t be so modest, at least that’s what his friends tell him. They say he’s talented, that his work is popular because of it. He simply shrugs and nods along. He didn’t do any of this for the popularity or money, though those are bonuses he will not turn his nose up at. He did this for the chance to feel closer to his mother and to finally be able to express what his words failed to express. He’s shared his dreams with a handful of his most trusted people, but no words could ever truly capture what he feels on the nights he dreams of wolf packs and warrior princesses. 

_Three months after his thirteenth birthday, the kindly old couple must reluctantly send him on his way. The woman is sick and Gendry is, for the first and only time, thankful that someone has let him go. He likes them, they are the first to make him feel like he matters, and he doesn’t want to watch her waste away like he watched his mother._

_This time there is no foster home for him. No one wants a teenager, it doesn’t matter that he’s only been one for three months, he’s damaged now. Gendry longs for the little shack in the country and the smell of lavender. There’s a boys home on the outskirts of King’s Landing. It’s not the greatest place he’s ever been, but it’s better than most. He makes friends, boys who have been through the same thing he has, and he makes enemies, peers who do not like the tiny boy who keeps to himself and prefers silence and his sketch pad to playing footie in the backyard. It’s not that he doesn’t love to play sports, he loves footie, but experience has taught him that not everyone he plays with will want to play with him to pass the time. Some only want him around to push and punch and shove in the dirt and he’s too small to take that for very long. It’s not something he needs to worry about for much longer._

_Within a year he shoots up like a beanstalk, filling out and out growing everything he can call his own. The kindly young woman who volunteers at the home laughs as he grows out of yet another pair of jeans. By the time he’s fifteen he’s in adult sizes and the bullies don’t bother him anymore. He splits his time between his art and playing in the yard, standing between the bullies and their new targets._

_He’s nearly sixteen when he discovers why he’s so big. His father is nearly 6’4, and all muscle. His hair is as dark as Gendry’s and eyes just as blue. He looks at Gendry like he’s seen a ghost and Gendry thinks that he might see tears in his eyes, but the thought passes quickly and without any more consideration. He gets to go home with the man he’s never known, the man he’s hated for so long. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to handle living with him, no matter how much he claims that he did not know about Gendry until recently._

_His father claims to have only ever loved two women. His mother is one of them. He will not talk about the other. He has his doubts at first, how can he claim to love his mother and not know she had died, or had a son for that matter, his son. But he knows Robert Baratheon speaks the truth when he hears the man sobbing in his study one night, in the house that’s far too big for one man._

_Robert later tells him that his wife, now ex-wife was not a marriage he had had much of a say in. Gendry’s grandfather had pushed them together after his first love ended their engagement for another man. He had met Gendry’s mother while out in the city one day, exploring the local art museums in an attempt to escape responsibility for a few hours. The way he talks about her, Gendry quickly loses any doubt that he did in fact love her._

_One day, Robert got up the nerve to tell his father he wasn’t going to marry a woman he didn’t love and who clearly didn’t love him and his father threatened to cut him off. Robert didn’t care but when he told Gendry’s mother she told him that family was everything and that he shouldn’t throw that away for someone like her. Robert was adamant that she was the only family he needed but before he knew it she was gone and he never saw her again._

_She had put his name on the birth certificate, so when she died, Gendry should have gone to him, but his ex wife had hated his mother more than anything, getting in her way and nearly losing her a fortune she had been lusting after since her father introduced them. When word came from the state, she promised to take care of it and never spoke to Robert about it, effectively ensuring that Gendry would never turn up. Robert divorced her when he found out their three children were not his and while going through the legal process he discovered Gendry._

“Do you not follow art?” he asks. 

“Not really. My sister asked me to come. She’s looking for new pieces for her office downtown. I’ve always enjoyed a good landscape though.” 

Gendry smiles at her and the way her eyes sparkle under the soft spot lights make his heart stutter. “And here I talked myself out of hanging all the landscapes” 

She smiles. “Maybe I’ll get to see them another time.” 

“I’d very much like to show you.” he replied honestly, the words falling out before he can consider them. 

_The first night Gendry spends in his father’s home is the first time he does not dream of a noble woman with a sword or a bastard and his hammer. From the night forward, his dreams are almost always different than the ones previous. One night he dreams of a land with a treacherous queen and an avenging princess. Another he’s falling in love with the voice of an angel as she sings about love on Christmas._

_On one particular night he dreams of an age of change. Only one hundred years since Westeros became Britannia, a new name for a new age. He smells the soot and smoke in the air, hears the soft whirring of propellers as airships take to the skies. The metallic clang of clockwork hooves against cobblestone rings down the street outside his workshop. He’s been working for days on his latest creation and he’s certain it will change the world, in much the same way that innovation has changed the world since the beginning of time. He’s hammering out steel to create a rigid protection around his delicate clockwork when he hears a commotion on the street outside. Shouts of anger and screams of protest._

_He pays it no mind. In this part of town that isn’t unusual. But then he hears the faint slide of the wooden barn door at the back of his workshop, the one he receives shipments through and he can’t ignore it anymore. The shouts have moved off down the street and he puts his tools down, making his way to the back of the warehouse._

_There is nothing here and yet the barn door is still open ever so slightly. He moves to close it but is startled by the man on the other side. Hot Pie, the bakery owner and his begrudging friend. Gendry prefers solitude. At sixteen he’s been alone long enough to appreciate the efficacy of such a lifestyle. But Hot Pie is a good man, and he’s always sharing his delicious creations with Gendry so he can’t find it in himself to turn the rotund man away._

_“What’s all the commotion out here?”_

_“The King’s Guard was chasing down a little boy. Don’t know why but he seems to have gotten away. Lost sight of him as he ducked through the crowd outside the shop.” Hot Pie explains, holding out a white bakers box to him. “New recipe, fresh out of the oven. Let me know if you like’em.”_

_Gendry thanks him as he turns to leave and the tinkerer shuts the barn door, latching it closed this time. He drops the box off in the little area he uses for a kitchen and heads back out into his workshop. As he rounds the corner of his workbench he catches a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye and without thinking he grabs one of his hammers and moves to investigate. The hammer is loose at his side, ready to strike out, but he’s not nearly as fast as the little thing that lunges at him as he finds their hiding place. It’s the little boy, he thinks as he manages to knock Gendry off his feet, but Gendry gets his wits about him faster than expected and whirls around, grabbing him by the ankle and bringing him down to the ground. The tiny 'oof' lets him know he’s knocked the wind out of him and he gets to his knees, dragging the small boy across the stone floor, despite his kicks and struggles._

_Gendry gets him on his back, his hat falling off as he struggles against Gendry’s stronger grip. “Let go of me!” he exclaims trying to wiggle away, but Gendry holds firm, eventually stopping him. It’s only as he stops and looks up at Gendry that he realizes he is not a ‘he’, but a she. Her long hair had most likely been stuffed up into her hat and her delicate features are covered in dirt and blood. There’s a cut along her forehead, but it’s not nearly big enough to account for all the blood._

_In his distraction, she begins to struggle again, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Let me go.” she grunts, trying to push him off but it’s no use. She’s tiny, smaller than most even next to someone like him, who hit six feet at fifteen._

_“Stop struggling. I’ll let you go but you have to tell me what your doing in here.” he tells her and she does. He’s about to let go when a pounding begins at his front door, followed by shouts of warning. He looks down to see her defiance has shifted to fear and without really thinking about it, he yanked her to her feet, snatched her hat off the ground and shoved her toward the metal stairs in the corner of the workshop. She goes without question, throwing a grateful look over her shoulder as she disappears into the loft._

_Gendry opens the front door to find members of the King’s Guard on the other side. Except, the longer he looks at them, the more he realizes they aren’t the King’s Guard. He just barely manages to send them on their way without searching his home and when he’s sure they’re gone he climbs into the loft to find the young girl, curled up behind his bed. He watches her as she looks back and then disappears into the small washroom just off his bedroom. He wets a rag and returns, kneeling in front of her. She flinches away when he reaches toward her with the rag, but she quickly realizes he means her no harm and lets him wipe her face clean._

_“So, why are those fake knights after you?” he shouldn’t ask, he shouldn’t care. He should give her something to eat and send her on her way. Maybe not even that. He can’t though. There’s something about this little girl and no matter how many times he tells himself he shouldn’t care, he finds he does._

_“How did you know they were fake?” She asks him, accepting the pastry from the box Hot Pie brought him. She takes it happily, biting into it and smiling slightly. He’ll have to let Hot Pie know it’s good._

_“Their armor.” He tells her. “I forged it. I know my own work and that wasn’t it.”_

_She stares at him wide eyed. “You’re Gendry?” She asks and he doesn’t really want to think about the awe that sits in her voice._

_“You know of me?” He’s confused to say the least. As far as he knows no one but the head of the King’s Guard and maybe a few of the squires would have any reason to know his name. Maybe a guard or a lesser noble might know him by sight, but not his name._

_She nods. “You forged my sword, Needle.”_

_“Needle?” He questions, he can’t remember a sword anyone commissioned from him being named needle. Though, he does remember a thin fencing sword that a noble commissioned that the name would easily fit, but that couldn’t be what she’s talking about. He’d made that sword for Jon Stark, nephew of the king._

_“My cousin gave it to me for my name day. He said you made it.”_

_“Jon Stark?” She nods. “That would make you…” daughter of King Eddard Stark, Princess Arya. “Why were they after you?” He asks again._

_“They’re Bolton’s Soldiers. They killed…” she stops taking a deep breath. “They killed my teacher, he tried to protect me and they…” tears well in her eyes and he moves around the counter, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. He lets her cry, doing his best to comfort her._

_There’s a part of him screaming to turn her out, to let the nobles figure their own drama out. They’ve done nothing for him, why should he care about them, but another part of him, reminds him that she’s just a little girl and she doesn’t deserve to be hurt or killed just because of who her father is. So he resolves to help her, he doesn’t know how, but he will._

“Arya?” a voice intrudes and Gendry does his best not to look annoyed He’s pleased to see she is not happy about the interruption as well. She turns to greet the taller girl, the one he’d seen her with throughout the night and Gendry assumes she is her sister. “I’m ready to go if you are.” she continues. 

Arya hesitates, looking back at Gendry and then returning to her sister. “I do have an early class in the morning.” she finally says. Sansa looks between them, a surprised yet knowing look in her eyes. 

“What class is it, maybe you can make it up?” 

Arya shakes her head reluctantly. “We’re preparing for finals.” she turns back to Gendry and smiles almost shyly. “Maybe we could get coffee sometime?” 

“I’d like that.” he replies immediately. She smiles and they exchange numbers before she follows her sister out of the gallery. 

“How did it go?” Horus asks, appearing beside him. 

“We exchanged numbers. We’re going to get coffee.” Gendry replies almost in a daze. 

“Cheers mate.” Horus tells him, patting him on the shoulder. 

_“I will always find you.” he tells her, his voice a whisper in the night. She presses deeper into his arms, burying her cold nose into his chest. He smiles down at her, laying a kiss on the crown of her hair._ _The winter winds howl outside the smithy, the only thing staving off the cold are their bodies pressed together. He never wants this moment to end, but it must, because Germans are coming and there isn’t anything anyone can do to stop them. The city is dark and the bombs will fall soon, but there is no escaping. They may not live to see the morning, but they will have this moment, together. And when the gods deem it, they will see each other again;_

_In the next life.  
_

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on Tumblr, where I take prompts, under the same name.


End file.
